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compassion in him that I was at no loss to interpret.
It was midnight when I arrived at home. I had reached
my own gate, and was standing listening for the deep bell
of St. Paul’s, the sound of which I thought had been borne
towards me among the multitude of striking clocks, when
I was rather surprised to see that the door of my aunt’s cot-
tage was open, and that a faint light in the entry was shining
out across the road.
Thinking that my aunt might have relapsed into one of
her old alarms, and might be watching the progress of some
imaginary conflagration in the distance, I went to speak to
her. It was with very great surprise that I saw a man stand-
ing in her little garden.
He had a glass and bottle in his hand, and was in the
act of drinking. I stopped short, among the thick foliage
outside, for the moon was up now, though obscured; and
I recognized the man whom I had once supposed to be a
delusion of Mr. Dick’s, and had once encountered with my
aunt in the streets of the city.
He was eating as well as drinking, and seemed to eat
with a hungry appetite. He seemed curious regarding the
cottage, too, as if it were the first time he had seen it. After
stooping to put the bottle on the ground, he looked up at
the windows, and looked about; though with a covert and
impatient air, as if he was anxious to be gone.
The light in the passage was obscured for a moment, and
my aunt came out. She was agitated, and told some money
into his hand. I heard it chink.
‘What’s the use of this?’ he demanded.